


Ass Angel

by trillingstar



Series: Hardtime100 [15]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Bad Art, Community: hardtime100, Crack, Digital Art, Flash Fic, M/M, On Purpose, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-01
Updated: 2009-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4145265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crazy shit happens in Oz, what can I say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ass Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Flashfiction Challenge #47: Wings; Beecher/Keller.  
> Word count: 1331. Cracky crack is cracky.  
> 

  
They'd all been playing cards, even Busmalis, who couldn't lie for shit, and there wasn't much more to play for than IOUs on desserts – cake being the most coveted. The game ended and Beecher raked in his winnings. He pushed his chair back from the games table and stood, stretching his arms up over his head.

"Thanks, suckers." He grinned. "I'm gonna go take a shit."

"Yeah, keep us updated," Keller retorted.

Toby stroked a finger under his bottom lip and across his chin. "Might find buried treasure."

Rebadow put his head in his hands and groaned, but O'Reily grinned, and Keller let out a chuckle.

Toby plunked his butt down on the cool metal toilet seat and sighed happily. There was a fresh roll of paper on the shelf, and the double summer issue of InStyle was by his side. The only thing he missed was a fan, but it wouldn't make a difference here, since it would only recirculate the stench around the pod. His stomach gurgled quietly, and he patted it soothingly. Oh yeah, this was gonna be a good one.

~

Keller examined his cards and made faces at them in his head. They sucked, but this was poker, so he maintained his deadpan expression. He was only partly paying attention to the game anyway. The breakdown was something like 80% Beecher, 10% Game, 20% Surroundings and 50% Keller. Give or take.

At a glance, Beecher looked happy, stuck to the seat of the john, so Keller shifted five percent over to Game. He traded a six for a nine, and tried to look as though his King and pair of threes were exactly what he'd wanted. Rebadow was easy to read – his forehead wrinkled with one more line at each bad card he was dealt; Busmalis talked to himself, chanting the names of his cards under his breath, apparently unaware that he wasn't imprisoned with deaf men; O'Reily was the trickiest, but even his sneer couldn't hide the gloat that reached his eyes.

Keller sighed. What a crap day. What he wouldn't give for a little excitement around here.

An agitated screech from their pod drew his attention immediately. Beecher was leaping around the pod, standing on one foot, hopping up and down, and shrieking.

Jesus, what a drama queen.

"I fold," he said. Whatever was going on with Beecher was bound to be more entertaining than cards with two oldheads and a jackass. He'd only wagered a pudding cup anyway. He stretched, scratching his stomach, and then under his chin, and then adjusted his dick. Finally, after all of the preening, he rose out of his chair and walked toward his pod, a grin already playing on his lips.

When Toby jumped like that, kicking at the flush handle on the toilet, it made his ass jiggle in the most delectable way.

~

Beecher's khakis twisted around his ankles and he fell, heavily, onto Keller's bunk. He struggled awkwardly to sit up, and then gave up and laid there, his heart racing and his breath coming in gasps.

What the FUCK was that?

He thought he was done dropping the kids off at the pool, and was resting for a moment, wiggling from cheek to cheek. He'd been perusing the table of contents, trying to decide between a spread of a television actor's summer home – apparently there was a zip line! – and an article about new antibacterial nail scissors that you could get personalized, with rhinestones – and something came out of his ass.

Breathe, just breathe, just breathe, breeeeeaaa-

"The fuck you doing, Beech?" Keller's voice broke into Toby's calming mantra.

Don't blubber, don't blubber, ohmigawd.

"Uh… there's something on your butt."

Toby felt Keller's fingers brushing against… oh god, what the hell WAS that? It – tickled, almost, and caused him to shiver.

"I thought… never mind. Um…" Chris sounded uncertain.

Beecher craned his neck around and looked up at Keller pitifully.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"Unhh… looks like there's a. Hmm. A feather. Stickin' out of your ass." Chris frowned in concentration. "Hold still, lemme…" He plucked the tip of it with his fingers and yanked, and Toby cried out in pain. Keller let go immediately.

Toby looked up at him again. Keller's eyes were wide, his mouth open, and Christ, Toby could see the hard evidence of a magnificent erection in his pants. He groaned. God, everything made Keller hard. Not that it was a hardship for Toby. He sniffed. Hardly!

"COUNT!"

Beecher yanked up his pants and stumbled from the pod.

~

Keller thought that Beecher was either incredibly horny or on his fuckin' deathbed. Over the last few hours, Toby laid in his bunk, naked, the sheet wrapped around his midsection. He groaned, long and loud. He sounded as though he was giving birth, with strange 'heewho' noises followed by filthy curses.

Keller ignored him, read a skin mag, stroked his dick through his boxers, did a few hundred one-armed push-ups, and then dumped a sinkful of water on his head and let it run down his face in lukewarm rivulets, down his neck and throat, down his muscular back and chiseled chest, further and further down until the droplets ran out of skin to cling to.

He turned around, a determined look on his face. "Get the fuck over here. We're getting to the bottom of this right now."

Beecher looked up from sobbing into his pillow, and his face was streaked with tears. "What?" he asked groggily.

Chris pointed at the bottom bunk. "Face down, ass up. I'm going in."

Holding his breath, he spread Toby's asscheeks carefully, and took a look. It wasn't just one feather, he realized, but what looked like several hundred tiny, individual feathers, and there was a row of cream-colored feathers on each side of Toby's asshole. In fact, they looked to be rooted _inside_ of Toby.

"Fuck me up the ass," Chris said in surprise.

Toby squirmed on the bed. "What? What is it?"

"Naw, hold still. Hang on." Chris spread Toby's cheeks even further, and squinted, inclining his head forward, and then rearing back when each side of feathers… _waved_ at him. They actually fluttered, and as he watched, mouth hanging open, they GREW, unfurling with a decisive rustle. Chris tilted his head and watched, astounded, until the – the _wings_ \- finished their growth and rested, framing Toby's hole with approximately ten inches of soft white feathers, creating a perfect landing strip with immaculate direction.

Chris couldn't resist. He reached out and stroked his fingers against the tips of the feathers, and they slid like silk across his hand. Toby opened his mouth and cried out in needy passion, and his whole body shuddered and writhed.

"Oh god," Toby said. "Do it again."

Kneeling down, his head between Toby's thighs, Chris blew a stream of hot breath across the left wing, and Toby responded as before, with a heartfelt, wordless groan of desire. The feathers wiggled happily and Chris ripped his boxers off and had his cock in his hand before he realized that the lights were still on and he swore ferociously.

His prayer was chosen and answered.

"Lights out!"

Toby's asswings clutched at Chris's thighs and hips as he sank slowly inside, and then as he started to move, they moved with him, surprisingly strong, taking some of his weight and nearly holding him in place. The feathers closer to the base tickled at his cock, and every time he thrust into Toby, a downy softness brushed across his thighs. Too soon, he was ready to pop, and with some guestimation from the noises that Toby made and the way he was humping the mattress, Chris decided that they would come together, in perfect harmony, with the glorious wings enveloping their sweaty, gorgeous bodies.

When a feather reached back behind Chris's balls and trailed a feathery touch across his own hole, Chris came.

And then Toby came.

Gloriously.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on LJ](http://hardtime100.livejournal.com/313506.html).  
> ozsaur: hey, guess what?  
> ozsaur: me and blackchaps have decided that you are writing Toby wing!fic  
> ozsaur: and the wings have to grow out of his ass  
> trillingstar: okaayyy  
> trillingstar: not my original INTENT  
> trillingstar: but it can be done.  
> blackchaps: YOU WRITE THAT ASS WING FIC AND I WILL BE YOUR PRAG!!  
> trillingstar: I'M WRITING ASS WING FIC SO BEND OVER BABY!!
> 
> My friends, they ruin me.  
> *smooshes*  
> 


End file.
